


10 Things I Hate About Logan

by KatyaKatKate



Category: X-Men (Comicverse), X-Men (Movies), X-Men - All Media Types
Genre: F/F, F/M, M/M, Multi, Other
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-10-26
Updated: 2014-12-10
Packaged: 2018-02-22 17:20:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,104
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2515670
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KatyaKatKate/pseuds/KatyaKatKate
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Continuing my crusade to combine teen movies and the X-Men, I have tackled the (now) classic "10 Things I Hate About You". Mutants in high school, social pressures, love, angst, etc. AU. WIP. Language (lots of it).</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

** 10 Things I Hate About Logan **

** Introduction: **

**_I have taken it upon myself to…ah…”reinvent” classic movies by inserting various characters of the X-Men into them…for what insane reason, I honestly have no idea. Right now, my latest venture is the movie based on Shakespeare’s ‘Taming of the Shrew’: “10 Things I Hate About You”._ **

** Archive:  **

**_Sure, why not? Just let me know, k?_ **

** Disclaimer: **

**_So, I own nothing. Literally. I am a broke grad student…do you think I could afford these characters? Nope (perhaps in another life). Characters and stuff belong to Marvel and Disney. “10 Things I Hate About You” belongs to Touchstone Pictures. So yeah…there’s that. I mean…if you feel the need to sue me, go ahead…I have had too much for too long…*looks around at room full of empty wine bottles*_ **

** Characters: **

**_For this movie variation, I have decided to take some elements from the ‘Ultimate Universe’ for some of the characters…this is basically to explain why some of them might be acting a bit differently from their canon 616 counterparts…also, Emma Frost is based a bit more on her younger self from her self-titled series, rather than her ULT or 616 adult self (if you have not read that series, please do so. Emma used to irritate the shit out of me until I read about her younger years, and now I understand her better). There are also some elements of “X-Men: Evolution” peppered in there. Oh, and in case this is not clearly evident, this is AU…so before the mob with torches and pitchforks begin, I state again, THIS IS AU! Enter at your own risk (that’s what she said). Why am I even explaining this? This is my damn story, I do what I want._ **

**_Also note, that Jean and Emma’s last name will be Xavier in this fiction, to reflect the family that they are in (they are Charles Xavier’s daughters)._ **

**_Jean Grey (Xaiver): Katarina Stratford_ **

**_James “Logan” Howlett: Patrick Verona_ **

**_Scott Summers: Cameron James_ **

**_Emma Frost (Xaiver): Bianca Stratford_ **

**_Hank McCoy: Michael Eckman_ **

**_Warren Worthington III: Joey Donner_ **

**_Ororo Munroe: Mand ella_ **

**_The Stepford Cuckoos: Chastity Church (the one character is now three)_ **

**_Remy LeBeau: Scurvy_ **

**_Charles Xavier: Walter Stratford_ **

**_Raven Darkholme: Miss Perky_ **

**_Nick Fury: Mr. Morgan_ **

**_Nathaniel Essex: Bogey Lowenstein_ **

**_Sean Cassidy: Mr. Chapin_ **

****

**_I also randomly placed other mutants in this story as well._ **

**_Cause I can._ **

* * *

 

** Chapter 1 **

_♫ “I came in like a wrecking ball/ I never hit so far in love/All I wanted was to break your walls…”_ _♫_

Screeching to a stop at the traffic light, Jean Grey Xavier glared at the teenie boppers singing to the song blaring from their Volkswagen Beetle. “You have GOT to be kidding me!” she growled to herself in response to the canned, over produced crap blaring from the opposite car. Punching the buttons on the radio, the gritty voice of Kathleen Hanna filled the interior.

♫ _“Rebel girl, Rebel girl/Rebel girl, you are the queen of my world/Rebel girl, I wanna take you home..”_ _♫_

The teenagers in the other car all looked over in horror, wincing at the music. When Jean glowered at them, the girls snapped their heads forward in sync, in an attempt to avoid eye contact. Rolling her eyes, the redhead threw her Honda Prelude into gear, gunned the engine, willed the light to turn green, and sped off. Stunned, the girls left behind sat in their convertible, coming to when the driver realized that the light had already turned red again. “That girl scares the ‘you know what’ out of me,” she said. The others nodded in silent agreement.

* * *

 

As Jean pulled into the parking lot of Westchester High School, she fought the urge to use her powers to just lift all of the students loitering in her way, choosing instead to lay on the horn to warn them that either they need to move or get their asses run over. At the piercing noise, students turned and scampered quickly once they realised who was causing it. 

“Oh crap…it’s that crazy bitch again!”

“Dude, get the hell out of the way! She will run your ass OVER, and then read angsty feminist poetry over your battered remains!”

_“Heh. I can con at least 100 bucks off of those dumbasses.”_

“Did you hear what she did to that Steve kid?”

_“Do I have enough for that weed Logan’s gonna score for me?”_

“YES! I heard that it took SIX operations-“

_“I wonder if I peeked into the future, I might see the test-“_

“NO! It actually took TWELVE to remove that-“

“I don’t care dude, I’d totally do her…Remember what Warr-“

“Poor Emma…she has to deal-“

The scatterings of thoughts and conversation of her peers pelted into Jean’s mind while she whipped into a parking spot. After yanking up the parking break of the Honda, the redhead laid her head on the steering wheel and sighed.   _People WONDER why I don’t like them…having to constantly filter out their opinions…you learn more about a person than you should,_ she thought resentfully. With a quick glance in the rearview mirror to check that her ponytail was straight, Jean grabbed her messenger bag, and pulled herself out of the Prelude, blinking at the bright morning.

* * *

 

Across campus, sitting in an office decorated in an odd combination of Ikea and porcelain dolls, Scott Summers sat contemplating his new surroundings.

“Army brat, eh? Twelve schools in twelve years?” a voice demanded.

Jerking up quickly, Scott snapped the back of his head into the wall, and quickly shot his hand up to steady the ruby coloured Oakleys on his face. The red-tinged face in front of him leaned back on the desk, smirking.

“Ah…no…well, yeah. I mean, Air Force. My father is a colonel in the Air Force.” Scott stammered, rubbing the back of his head.

Snapping shut the folder in her arms, the sophistically dressed woman studied the boy sitting before saying, “Scott Summers, I am Ms. Raven Darkholme, your student counselor-slash-advisor. You may address me as Ms. Darkholme, and please feel free NOT to bring your adolescent bullshit anywhere near this office.”

“Uh…what? Huh? I…don’t…what…?” Scott trailed off, confused.

 

“Now, let’s see. Your gift manifests through your eyes, correct?” Ms. Darkholme flipped to a page in the folder and held it up for Scott to see. “Concussive force, yet you are unable to control it, hence the douchebag eyewear fashion from 1998.”

 

“Uh…yes…I, uh, hit my head when, uh, I was a kid…so, uh…”

 

“Well, aren’t you just the articulate one?” Ms. Darkholme simpered, moving back behind the desk to take a seat. “You will fit in Westchester High just fine. Stupid punk ass shit for brains everywhere.” As if to emphasize her point, a muffled explosion sounded in the schoolyard just beyond her window.

Stunned, Scott began to look wildly around, “Wait, am I in the right…?”  


Wide plastic smile in place, Ms. Darkholme ignored him, responding with, “Out. I have other aberrations to deal with today before I can hit the bottle.”  


Scott snapped out of his shocked state, and quickly reached down to scoop up his backpack. “Ah…is that all, Ms. Darkholme?” She gave him a withering stare, which caused him to move faster, and as a result walked straight into what felt like a brick wall...one that growled at him. “Huh? What?”

Another growl from the wall, “Bub, watch yerself.” Scott stumbled back and looked at the hairy adolescent before him. “Uh…I’m just leaving…” trailing off, skirted the mysterious guy to land into the hallway.

Turning his attention from the brown haired kid with red glasses, the mutant leaned against the doorway, sticking his hands in his pockets. “Ya rang, Darkholme?”

The blue woman patted her red hair as she looked up from the papers in her hand. “James Howlett, or are you still going by Logan? No matter, it seems that once again, your shenanigans have once again landed your rather shapely behind in trouble again.” Logan just shrugged in response.

“You replaced Mr. Cassidy’s power point presentation with gifs from porn…and if that was not enough, you left a message at the end, and I quote, ‘Cheers, motherfucker, from yer ol’ Canadian pal.’ Now, if that does not implement you, then I don’t know what does.” Ms. Darkholme’s yellow eyes regarded Logan attentively.

“Ya thought the porn was me? Nice.” Logan scratched his beard thoughtfully and brushed the stray black hair away from his face.

“Don’t flatter yourself, Moose Boy…but then again, there might not be many moose out there much more…blessed…than you.” Ms. Darkholme said as her eyes roamed over him. Logan’s expression quickly went from bored to slight disgust as he caught on to her innuendo. “Now, keep your hooves off of the perverted movies…at least in class. Move your ass. I have better things to do than babysit you. Out.” Logan straightened up and with an obnoxious wink, sauntered out.

* * *

 

Standing in the locker filled hallway, Scott stood helplessly as he tried to figure out what to do next. “Hello! I am Hank McCoy, your tour guide for this humble abode.” An optimistic sounding voice spoke up suddenly, causing Scott to jump. Turning, he was greeted with a cobalt furry face, broken by a fully fanged smile.

“Uh…hi. Scott Summers. Nice to meet…you?”

“Greetings, Scott Summers! As I stated, I am to be at your disposal in navigating this faculty. I see you have met the illustrious Ms. Raven Darkhome…she tends to be quite…something.” Hank said diplomatically.

Scott winced. “Dude, she scared the shit out of me. Is she always like that?”

The wooly mutant chuckled and clapped Scott on the back with a large hand that resembled a paw. “That’s how you know she likes you. You came out of the office alive. Now come on. We have a giant campus to explore, and not a lot of time.” Steering Scott down the crowded hallway, he continued, “So, this school is peppered with just about every stereotype known to mutant, as well as a few more. What is your power, my dear boy?”

“Well, my power is a bit broken; a beam comes from my eyes. I have to wear these glasses, or I would end up destroying everything around me.”

Hank nodded sympathetically. “Yeah, you are not the first one with broken powers. You see that lad with the wrappings around his face and neck,” indicating a Robert Smith look-a-like scuttling the hallways with his head bowed, “that is Jonothon Starsmore. He discovered his psionic abilities by accidently blowing off the lower half of his place. Interestingly enough, he communicates telepathically, and even his British accent transfers to his thought exchange.”

“Wow…I guess that really sucks. I mean…wow. So, uh, what about you? Are you just uh…” Scott gestured failingly at Hank’s blue fur.

“I am not only immensely handsome, but I am also extremely agile.” To emphasize his point, Hank leapt up, curled his legs under him, did a triple somersault, and landed on top of the metal lockers. Swaying gently to balance himself, he smiled and said, “All of this, and I happen to process a genius level intelligence.”

“Whoa. That’s pretty cool.” Scott said as Hank flipped off of the lockers and landed beside him. “I’m kind of athletic; I used to play baseball at my last school. If I could do what you just did…that’d be awesome.”

“Here at the illustrious Westchester High, there is a strict “no-powers” rule in our intermural sports arena…however; it is easily ducked by some of our more clever colleagues. I myself like to stick to the sciences, as I cannot always depend on these devastatingly good looks of mine to carry me through life.” Hank chuckled as he guided Scott through the metal double doors into the packed courtyard and swept his wooly arm out. “Here we become the anthropologists to study the various tribes of Westchester County’s finest.”

“Whoa.” Scott muttered.

“Ah, a Keanu fan?”

“Huh?” Scott responded, bewildered.

“Nevermind. On your left, you will see the gaggle of the beautiful mutants. Either by genetic gifts or parental funds, these are the exclusive of the 1%. It is best not to speak to them unless they approach you first.”

“Wow. That guy there…” Scott trailed off, staring at the tall blonde winged adolescent that was posed by the fountain in the centre of the yard. “He is literally an angel.”

“Yes, that would be Sir Warren Worthington III. He is the douchist of the douche…he only hangs out with all of the stunningly perfect examples of mutant elite.”

Scott studied the group that also contained a pair of twins with white hair and a purple-haired Asian girl, and sighed. “Way to make a guy feel insignificant.”

Picking up on Scott’s mood shift, Hank directed him to another group of hipster attired mutants. “Here we have the hipster kids. While one would think that they are native to Washington, they endure soundly here in New York. They usually protest just about anything that is “mainstream” all the while buying their attire from mainstream retailers.” While they watched a girl with a slouchy knit beanie atop of mahogany hair and dark red clothes fired what looked like a bolt of something toward the beautiful people, and laughed when they scattered. She then turned toward another girl in black with a short strawberry bob who then let loose a dazzlingly bright light show. “That would be Wanda Maximoff and Alison Blaire. They tend to get bored rather easily, as you can see. Over there in the corner is Nate.” He gestured, indicating a sullen teen that was slouched in the corner and running a gloved hand through white streaked hair.

“Moving on, here are the artists. The tall Russian one, Peter, is our resident painter and Bobby tends to specialize in ice sculptures…whether we want slush there or not. He tends to be a bit of prankster. For the most part, they are really just stoners.” Hank said, referring to a tall guy with black hair, and his shorter blond companion that was covering the lawn around them in a sheet of sheer frost. “Over there, you have the more athletically inclined students,” he continued, pointing to a few students that were throwing around a football, including one that was a similar hue to Hank, but sported elf-like features and a tail. “You might have some shared interests there.”                                                                                                       

Scott studied the yard with a mix of horror and fascination. “So, ah. Where do you fit in?”

“I am a leader of the sciences! A master of the diplomatic arts! Lead for valedictorian of Westchester High, future Noble Peace Prize winner!” Hank triumphantly announced. Scott nodded with understanding, and pointed to a cement table flocked by students in conservative dress. “Is that your group? The one with all of the laptops open?”

Bristling slightly, Hank pulled Scott away from the attention of the students and murmured, “You see that REALLY pale guy at the end? That is Nathaniel Essex. His focus of choice is that of genetic studies, particularly of molecular evolution and engineering. Mine is more of the theoretical sciences, physics and the natural of time displacement…well, Essex has decided that since his field of study has more to offer mutantkind, I am obsolete. He then in turn told everyone that I was studying the relations of time and space in order to go back and manipulate the past for my own selfish purposes. It is but a minor setback, I shall resume my position back as the more advanced persona.”

Scott rubbed the back of his head while observing the table. “Wow…that’s really crappy. I mean, I don’t know KNOW you, but you don’t seem so bad. In fact,” Scott cut off abruptly, eyes glued to a small group moving through the courtyard.

Flanked by what appeared to be three identical triplets, a short girl with long sinuous blonde curls walked toward the fountain that graced the centre of the area. His mouth dropped open as he watched their saunter and whispered in awe, “Ill met by moonlight, proud Titania.”

“Shakespeare. Impressive, my dear boy. One would conclude that you have spotted the lovely Emma Frost Xavier, and the ever contemporaneous Stepford Cuckoos.” Hank said, watching Scott watching Emma. “I would hesitate to recommend her for dating, however, as she is not permitted to. It is widely known that the Xavier sisters have been forbidden to do so.”

“But I have to meet her! She’s perfect!” Scott begins to follow the flock, only to be pulled back by Hank. “Why can’t she date? Strict parents or something?”

“Yeah or something. In any case, she is too good for us anyway. Emma is part of the telepathic elite, as are her friends the Cuckoos. She has an aggressively sadistic sister that is gifted as well,” Hank sighed and looked back over to Emma. “You see her outfit? That white sundress choice is not an accident. It exists to remind us that she is too good for us, and for wankers like Warren Worthington to lust after her.” Scott continued to look at Emma, observing the way she tucked a piece of pink-tinged flaxen behind her ear as she listened to whatever one of the Cuckoos and he smiled when she threw back her hand in laughter.

_She is perfect! She looks so gentle and sweet, I would not want anything to make her sad._ Scott thought to himself. As if she heard him, she stopped laughing and turned her head until she made eye contact with Scott. He felt a burning in his cheeks and he quickly ducked his head started rubbing the back of his neck. He sensed what felt like a light tinkling of amusement skitter through his head unbidden, and peeked up from behind his glasses just in time to see a pleased-looking Emma turning back to her friends.

“You said that she is telepathic? Oh, shit. I think she ‘heard’ me.” Scott muttered, still hanging his head, holding his Oakley glasses in place.

“I would not worry, my friend. I am sure that she has ‘heard’ worse from other sources, including yours truly. Now, allow me to show you through the rest of the estate before Shiro sets fire to it…again.” Hank chuckled and Scott followed him back inside the large double doors.

* * *

 

** Author’s Note: **

Just givin’ the ol’ heads up (not lookin’ to get sued this week):

“Rebel Girl” by Bikini Kill is the property of Bikini Kill/Bikini Kill Records

“Wrecking Ball” by Miley Cyrus is the property of Miley Cyrus/RCA Records


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer:
> 
> I don’t own crap. I really don’t…the characters belong in the Marvel home and “10 Things I Hate About You” belongs to Touchstone Pictures. So don’t sue me.

** 10 Things I Hate About Logan **

As Jean worked to navigate through the packed halls of Westchester High, she took a sip of her coffee, thinking about the university that she had applied to. _“Dad is going to kill me…I know he wants me to go to Columbia, but I fully intend on getting into Stanford instead…I just don’t-“_ , she jolted back into reality when her coffee hit the side of her face, scalding her. “WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK?!” she screeched to the kid scampering off of his ice slide.  


“Ah, I am SO SORRY. SO SO sorry,” he whimpered, trying to freeze up the steaming coffee that was dripping from Jean’s hoodie.

“Leave it.” She said, wiping her stinging face.  The kid kept helplessly wiping at the now frozen shards from her, and concentrating slightly, she picked the kid up with her telekinesis. “Drake, right? I told you, leave it.” The kid, Bobby Drake, winced in her invisible embrace, and nodded emphatically. Sighing, she dropped him to the floor, and walked away, ripping the overly cheerful poster for the upcoming Prom from the wall as she went.

“AH, Jean! I see we are once again posing the statement of how feminist we are by rejecting the ritual of Prom this year.” A deeply accented voice spoke up behind Jean, causing her to jump slightly. Smiling, Jean turned toward to her dearest friend, Ororo Munroe.

“Ororo. Of course we are! Why would we continue this antiquated ceremonial form of sexism by actually attending?” Jean quickly hugged her friend, while using her powers to throw the now crumbled poster into the trash can.

“Yes. Another statement from us, how novel.” The Kenyan born beauty chuckled as she bent over at the waist, gathering her white mane into a messy topknot. “Do you ever feel that we just might be missing out on something…something that is crucial to our adolescence? Perhaps that we just might someday look day and think that we might have missed something of cultural importance?”

“Ro, Prom is just an excuse for a bunch of losers to get trashed and rub up against one another, all while under the impression that is it perfectly acceptable. Forgive me if I chose to go another route.” Linking her arm with Ororo’s, Jean walked them into their AP Literature class, and stopped so suddenly, that her friend ended up crashing into her. “What in the fu-?!”

“By the Goddess, what?” Ororo begrudgingly inquired, lifting herself from the floor.

“Why are all of these mentally deficient persons in our class?!” Jean exclaimed, surveying the crowded classroom. “Uh…last I knew, our advanced placement class only had ten people in it.”

“Well, it appears to have quadrupled overnight,” Ororo responded, rubbing her side. “I suppose we should just battle our way to some seats, and hope that Fury knows just what in the hell the school is pulling.”

“Son of a bi…” Jean trailed off has she locked stares with Warren Worthington III, who in turn sneered boldly at the redhead. Shaking her head rapidly, she stammered, “No. No. No, I am not going in there with that piece of blonde excrement.”

Rolling her whitening eyes, Ororo gestured with her hand, and in an instant the African teenager had the seraph winged mutant in the air with a violent wind gust and tossed him across the room. Warren caught himself by extending his wings, and was about to launch himself at her, when a booming voice echoed through the room. “Just what in the hell is going on here? Wing boy, get your ass in a chair this instant. Jesus H. Christ.” Stalking through the doorway, Dr. Nicolas Fury managed to stare down the room with his single good eye. Wilting in his menacing glare, all of the students slowly sank into various desks, the floor, and in one case, the fish tank in the rear of the room. 

“Listen up. Once again because of budget cuts, the powers that be have decided that combining the idiots in basic college prep and the smarter fuckers in the advanced placement into one class would be a good damn idea. Now, I see that as a disaster in the making, but I don’t make the damn decisions. So, this is how it’s going to be. I am going to continue to teach on the AP level, and the rest of you are going to have to learn to catch up. I refuse to talk down to any of you fools.”

Stifling a laugh, Ororo leaned over and whispered into Jean’s ear, “This is going to be amusing.” Paling slightly, Jean whispered back, “Yeah, but we are now stuck in a class with Warren. This is NOT how I wanted to spend the rest of my senior year.”

“Yes, however, it will be funny to watch him struggle with the material. Can you imagine him reading anything without pictures?” Ororo chuckled quietly. As the vision of Warren Worthington III holding a book sideways, trying desperately to figure out the script, popped into her head, Jean laughed.

“So, let’s play catch up to those that have not read F. Scott Fitzgerald’s ‘The Great Gatsby’. Dr. Fury said, as he scooped up a stack of books from his desk. Students began to duck while he started to chunk copies toward random places around the room. “My students that have read it, can you please give the rest of the class some feedback on what is considered ‘The Great American Novel’.

“Oh my God. It was so romantic! Everything that Gatsby did was from love for Daisy! It was so sad that he died and Daisy had to go back to that stupid cheating Tom!” an Asian girl with short spikey hair said.

“Oh, can it, Jubilee! Did you actually read it? Daisy single handedly set back feminism a century by being a spoiled kept woman that who was so much of a coward of change, she stayed with a man that coveted her like a piece of property! Jay Gatsby stayed by the phone, waiting for her to call, and didn’t…she ran back to Tom like a trained puppy!” Jean fumed, standing up. “And don’t EVEN get me started on Fitzgerald himself. He was an inadequate piece of shit that used his marriage as fodder for his stories! Whenever Zelda tried to write anything, he condemned her into such a state, she spent most of her either in a bottle or in an insane asylum. Their entire marriage was full of resentment. Why can’t we read ‘Save Me the Waltz’? Then at least we could see her point of view!” holding up the book, she looked pointedly at Dr. Fury.

“Dude. I remember Zelda. That game was a bitch!” a voice piped up from the back of the room.

“Are you serious? Please. PLEASE tell me that you are just fucking with me!” Jean snapped, spinning around.

“Girl, get yourself together, and sit your butt down. And whoever said that idiotic comment can just get the fuck out of my class this instant, unless you can keep your trap shut.” Dr. Fury roared, and a low pitched meep sounded from the back as an answer.

“Are you really treating me like a hysterical little girl? That the answer is for me to remain quiet and not have a voice? Why are we reading this crap? Why can’t we read anything by Kate Chopin? Gloria Steinem? Maya Angelou?” the redhead crossed her arms in defiance.

“White girl, you KNOW you don’t wanna get into this argument with me. Why don’t you call the school district board and ask them to add an African-American book that is not ‘Uncle Tom’s Cabin’ to the curriculum? Why can’t students read books by W.E.B. Du Bois?  Langston Hughes? I will take your Gloria Steinem, and raise you a Malcom X! I get that the system is screwed, so how ‘bout instead attacking a fellow passenger in this boat, you go after the sharks circling?” Before Jean could come back with a response, Logan Howlett slammed open the door and glanced around the crowded room.

“Shit. What in the hell happened in here?” Logan asked, cocking a thick eyebrow.

Jean turned toward the wild haired teen and gestured wildly. “We are just discussing the pathetic way that the Caucasian patriarchal society likes to make the younger generation drink the Kool-Aid of ignorance.”

“Oh. So, nothing new then.” Logan shouldered his messenger bag, and went back out the door, slamming it behind him.

“What the hell?!” Dr. Fury started over to the door, when Warren spoke up. “Is Jean PMSing again? “Cuz I am sure they got some meds for that.”

Turning around, the teacher addressed the winged mutant, “Yo, blondie. You need to keep your mouth shut, or someone’s going to do it for you. As far as your stupidity, I’m sure there ain’t shit out there to cure it.”

Jean glowered at Warren until Fury turned back toward her. “And as for you, Miss Xavier, why don’t you get your political protesting ass out of my class. You’re pissing me off, and while most days I have patience for it…amid the chaos, I don’t have time for shit today. Go lecture about your current injustice to Ms. Darkholme.”

Jean paled and clinched her jaw in anger, when she felt a soft tug from her friend on the floor. She glanced down and locked eyes with Ororo’s blue ones, who slowly shook her head. “Just go,” she mouthed. Jean hesitated, and then nodded. “Yeah, you’re right.” Ororo handed Jean her messenger bag, and the redhead turned toward the door. Just as she was about to leave, she shot her hand behind her and a copy of ‘The Great Gatsby’ flew up from the floor and hit Warren squarely in the face. The classroom door that slammed shut behind her muffled the yell.

* * *

 Jean stood outside of the school counselor’s office, stifling a laugh. Inside Raven Darkholme was writing what Jean concluded to be a mercenary/mommy porn/spy novel that appeared to take place on the southern Asian island of Madripoor. The psychic train of thought from the office was just begging to be heard. 

_“Crossing the room, the international assassin known enigmatically as Viper longed not only to be known for her deadly touch, but also that of a woman in heat. Donned in only part of his silver samurai armour, Kenuichio Harada met the green haired executioner midway. Reaching up, he pulled at the chopsticks holding her green tresses when she moaned and grabbed at his wrist. ‘Careful, my lover…the tips are poisoned…’ Viper whispered._

_‘Of course they would be my deadly slayer. I would not expect anything less from you.’ Harada breathed into her ear, slowly dropping the infected items. Twisting her silken tresses in his hand, he yanked back her head, exposing the milky flesh of her throat. Whimpering, Viper ran her palm down the side of his fit torso, leading into his –“_

The stream of the consciousness broke up suddenly when Jean finally could not keep the laugher in anymore, and the door of the office was flung open. Looking into the annoyance that the blue woman’s conveyed, Jean fell into another fit of giggles.

“Miss Xavier. Surprise, surprise, surprise. Unless this is a visitation of merriment, of which I doubt, I would assume that you are terrorizing yet another class?”

Jean gathered herself together, enough to step inside of the hideously decorated office. Settling into the chair before the overcrowded desk, Jean said, “It’s not considered a terrorist act when I am just simply stating my opinion. How is it my fault that people consider change dangerous? Actually, I would think that you would want to address the fact that people are so ignorant that they refuse to move with the times? Must we be stuck in 1952?”

Ms. Darkholme stared intently at the adolescent as she moved behind the desk to set down. Closing her laptop, she leaned forward and said, “Jean, has it ever occurred to you that perhaps you might be going about things the wrong way? After all, you have developed quite the reputation as, well,”

“Impassioned?” Jean put in.

“No. Psychotic abominable bitch is closer to it. And to answer your previous question, we have in fact moved way past the close mindedness of the 50’s. In terms of rights, minorities have made great strides over the years. Even rights for _homo sapien superior_ have come along, perhaps not as much as we would like, but it is a hell of a lot better than it was years ago.”

“Well, what do you expect me to do? Just sit there and take it?” Jean asked.

“No, but you can go about it in a more positive way. Trust me; no one understands more how people can just be complete shitheads. Back in the 60’s and 70’s your father and I fought the good fight. Those first steps were always the hardest. In fact, I do see a lot of Charles in you…how is he doing these days?” Ms. Darkholme tilted her head and locked eyes with Jean.

Jean startled, she had forgotten that her school counselor and father had once been very close friends, and had actually helped to pave the way for mutant peace with humans. “Uh…he’s good. You know, as well as he can after Mom left. He just got back from Oxford where he gave a speech on the impact of global warming in the Savage Land. He discovered that radiation from greenhouse gases that has been released into the atmosphere have tampered with the technology that the Nuwali placed to maintain the area in Antarctica. He will be leaving again after graduation to do another lecture circuit on the emergences of secondary mutation…I believe that was spurred on by Emma’s.”

The older woman nodded, “Yes, your sister can now assume a diamond form, in addition to her telepathy, correct?”

“Yeah. Dad’s been freaking out because he cannot read her while she is that form, but then she cannot use her telepathy either. It’s actually kind of funny.” Jean said.

Raven Darkholme leaned back into her chair, and slowly sipped some coffee. “Oh, in case you were interested, Wade Wilson’s, ah, wobbly bits have grown back…well, more or less…so it would seem that your behavour today has been quite mild compared to some of your, ah…earlier actions.”

“Wade is a pervert and ripped his own “wobbly bits” off. I still maintain that is what happened.” Jean responded, a slight smile forming on her face.

“Well, in any case, can you just hold it together until you graduate? Can you keep the bloodshed to a minimum? I’m honestly tired of all of the damn paperwork.” Darkholme sighed, lifting up thick folder. “This is all of your violent antics in physical form. So, let’s just keep it down for a bit, huh?”

Taking a deep breath, Jean gathered her bag, and stood up. “Sure, Ms. Darkholme. Of course, it would be easier if the morons that attend the school could just vanish, but hey, that’s my problem. So, I’m gonna go, and you can get back to Viper polishing Harada’s sword.” She winked and strolled out of the office, leaving Darkholme with a look of inspiration crossing her features as she scrambled for her laptop.

* * *

****


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimers: Usual suspects apply: Not my characters, they belong to Marvel/"10 Things I Hate About You" belongs to Touchstone Pictures. I get no monies from this (as my student loans can attest to).

Warm sunlight streamed into the greenhouse as Emma Frost Xavier doodled dreamily in her notebook; completely unaware of the class going on around her. She could not keep the thought of the blonde winged mutant out of her head. Ever since she entered Westchester High, she had eyes for Warren, and imagined that someday they would be together. It just really sucked that her father would not let her have a boyfriend…a rule that came around when her mother left. Emma scrunched up her face with the thought of her. Her absence left a giant gap in her heart, something that her father has been scrambling to fill…and well, Jean…Jean has just been more closed up and standoffish by the passing day. Chasing away the thought of her family, Emma closed her eyes, and allowed the idea of Warren’s soft wings wrapping around her to engulf her senses.

_“Who is Emma swooning about today? Is it the angelic face of Warren Worthington III that she is fantasizing about?”_

Emma jolted back to reality with the song of the triplets echoing through her head. Looking back, she locked eyes with her best friends, the Stepford Cuckoos: Celeste, Mindee, and Phoebe. The triplets looked backed with an identical impasse expression on their faces _. “Yes, I am. Just what is so wrong with that? He is a senior, and is LITERALLY an angel! AN ANGEL!”_ Emma projected back, fighting the blush that she felt crossing across her cheeks.

“Miss Xavier. Would you care to share with the rest of the class what you have found so amusing? Could it be that you happen to know in what kind of soil you grow dogwood trees? Acidic or alkaline?” the teacher asked, cocking her blonde head.

“What tree, Miss Puceanu?” Emma asked innocently. Concentrating slightly, she tried to read her teacher’s mind to get the answer when she was shut out suddenly.

“Oh, Emma. You know better than that, the entire staff has been trained in how to block telepaths. No, you have to learn the old fashioned way, by actually paying attention.” Miss Meggan Puceanu responded, turning back to stroke the leaves of a small gardenia bush.

“So, I cannot use my gifts, but you can?” Emma inquired, almost spitefully. “You use your abilities as an empath to connect with your environment, but I cannot do the same?”

Before the elfin-like educator could respond, a bored sounding voice piped up from behind a row of potted orchids, “The difference _is_ that you are using your gifts to cheat, and she is a teacher. The end.” Ororo Munroe slowly sat up until just the top part of her face was visible over the plants. Yawning, she brushed back a white lock of hair that fell over her eyes, and theatrically collapsed back onto the floor, while the rest of the class buzzed with whispers and hushed giggles.

“Well, ah, thank you Miss Munroe. While I am still puzzled as how a senior such as yourself came to be in this underclassman horticulture class, I appreciate your assistance.” She paused to acknowledge a lazy wave gesture from Ororo, and continued, “To answer your question, Emma, yes. I _am_ an environmental empath, my appearance and powers do stem from the world around me, but I’ve also had to learn a lot of knowledge about how to control that and overcome raw emotion. While our powers differ, _you_ are in this class to learn more about the cultivation plants, _not_ to sneak answers out of my head.” Miss Puceanu circled a bench covered with climbing vines, and kneeled next to Emma’s desk. “Are you okay, sweetie? Normally, you are not quite so combative in class?”

Emma, paling slightly, and pushing the psychic tittering of the Cuckoos to the back of her mind, brought a winning smile to her face, “Yes, ma’am. I’m okay…just a little distracted and tired. I’m sorry.” Nodding to herself, Miss Puceanu stood back up, still looking unsure, started back to the front of the greenhouse.

_“Daddy’s little girl…teacher’s pet.”_ Those phrases kept rattling through Emma’s head, placed there by the Cuckoos. _“Guys, please. Get out.”_ she telepathically sent to them. As she pulled out her pen back out to start writing notes, out of her peripheral, she noticed the triplets look at one another, a matching smirk cross their faces. And, not for the first time, Emma wondered silently if they were really her friends.

* * *

 

“Ro, I still don’t get why you ditch gym to hangout in a sophomore class.” Jean remarked, as she and Ororo left the cafeteria to spend the rest of their lunch period outside. Spotting a shaded bench, she directed them over to the spot and threw her messenger bag down. “Ahhhhh…that feels SO much better!” she said, rotating her shoulders in ecstasy. Sinking down onto the bench, Jean gestured for her friend to sit.

Flipping her sunglasses up, Ororo peeked at Jean. “You know how I feel about being trapped inside all of the time. I need to be near nature…it is surprising how little time we spend outside in a class that it touted to be physical…this school is just lucky that I even wear clothes to class.  Oh, speaking of, little sister Emma has been daydreaming in class again...not too hard to figure out why.” Letting her sunglasses fall back into place, Ororo leaned back on the bench, and closed her eyes.

Jean squinted her eyes in thought, and shifted uncomfortably, “Uh, why?”

“Really? You, telepath extraordinaire, do not know that your own sister has puppy love for the King of the Douchbags, the Ruler of the Asshats, Czar of the Rats-“

Jean snapped into reality, “Warren?! Really? Has he made a move on her?”

“Not that I know of…but you knew that it was only a matter of time before he would come sniffing around her.” Ororo sighed dramatically. “I would just keep an eye on her.” Shifting around so she was lengthways, she put her head in Jean’s lap, and stretched her long brown legs out on the bench seat. The redhead chewed on the cuticle of her thumb, looking into the distance thoughtfully. “Yeah, I know…I just worry. Even though she’s an insufferable optimistic suck up, Mom’s leaving hit her hard. I mean, her leaving left a hole in all of us…but Emma…Emma just closed down. I dunno…I really hope that she doesn’t do anything rash.”

Ororo looked up at her friend, “Honey, she is her own person. I know you beat yourself up for…well, what happened, but the past is the past. Not everyone will travel down the same road.”

Jean looked down, a ghost of a smile appearing. “Yeah. You’re right.” She sighed and opened to her mouth to say something when the smell of smoke caught her attention. “Ugh, what is that odor?” Squinting, Jean recognized the guy that had burst into their literature class earlier that day stomping by their bench. Ororo picked up her head and followed him with her eyes as he made his way to the parking lot, cigarette smoke trailing behind him.

“That dude. What is his name? Logan something?” Ororo asked, dropping her head back into Jean’s lap, and began to languidly study the woven bracelets adoring her arm.

“Howlett. I think his name is James, but he goes by Logan for some reason. He only really hangs out with that Cajun kid.” Jean said, propping her elbows on the back of the bench, noting the way the students skittered out of the self-imposed Howlett warpath.

“Looks like he just decided to ditch the rest of the school day…anyway, I heard that he did porn, that’s why he wasn’t here last year.” Ororo remarked, peeking over the side of Jean.

Jean shook her head and smirked, pulling her attention from the one-man Moses act going down. “Meh. I refuse to admit that he would be anywhere that interesting.”

Ororo smiled and said, “Yes, but it would be nice to know that he had such _exciting_ experience.” Jean met her friend’s eyes, and they both started laughing.

* * *

 

“I need a piece of that, Bro.” Warren commented to Jean-Paul Beaubier as they watched Emma and the Cuckoos cross the shaded courtyard to enter the cafeteria. Jean-Paul scoffed. “Yeah, okay. Warren, I’ll grant that you can buy and sell just about any student here, but I can assure you that ‘Emma: The White Virgin Queen’ is untouchable.”

“Nothing’s out of my reach, Jean-Paul. I can make it happen…all I have to do it wink, and she’ll be putty in my hands.” Warren said, running his hands over his hair to smooth it down. “Every single girl I’ve wanted, I’ve gotten, and that Xavier girl won’t be an exception.”

“You’re so full of yourself, darling,” A British accent spoke up behind them. Walking up, an Asian girl snickered as she deftly placed her Chanel sunglasses on top of her glossy purple hair. She then reached out to slowly run her manicured fingers down the feathers of one of Warren’s wings, a devilish expression crossing her visage as she watched him shiver. Quickly responding, Warren shot out his hand and grabbed her wrist.

“Betsy, stop. I’ve got no time for your bullshit today.” He snapped, letting go of her. Smirking, the immaculately coiffed teenager leaned against the tree, and began studying Warren. Grinning slightly, Betsy Braddock turned her attention toward Jean-Paul, “Where’s Jeanne-Marie? I needed to get my chem notes back from her, and she’s not answering my texts. Gods only know I don’t want to pull the answers out of some moron’s head to pass the ‘pop’ quiz I have next period.”

“It must be nice to be able to dodge pop quizzes when you are telepathic. Of course, it does change from your usual method of just sleeping with the teacher.” Warren scoffed. Betsy jolted, and narrowed her eyes as she stared her opposite.

“Oh Warren. Did you happen to forget the time that I had you thinking that you were a Chihuahua for an entire day? I, for one, won’t forget. You panted, frolicked around, and begged for puppy treats. So please, I implore you, keep knocking on that door. I’ve got no problem revisiting that particular scene.” Turning to walk away, Betsy rotated back toward Warren. “Oh, some food for thought, darling…everyone is aware that you have a ‘type’. I would deviate from telepaths in the future, and once again, we all know what a slimeball you really are. Oh look, it’s Jeannie-Marie, right on time. I must run now.”

Warren steamed while watching Betsy saunter towards a group that contained Jean-Paul’s twin, then sneered when she hugged another guy.

“It’s alright, man,” Jean-Paul remarked, slapping his hand on Warren’s shoulder. “Everyone knows that she’s still not over you. I think the question remains, are you over her?”

Snapping out of his daze, Warren barked, “Of course I am! Do you think I am some sorry sack of shit that just moons over his exes? Now, about Emma Xavier, I am going to totally tap that ass.”

Jean-Paul shrugged and said, “Alright, bro. This I gotta see.”

* * *

 

Sitting in plain sight, but because of their social status, they might as well have been invisible; Scott and Hank sat eating their lunch on the lawn about twenty feet from Warren and Jean-Paul. Or, to be exact, Hank was happily chowing through the plethora of food that sat before him, and Scott just played with his soggy sandwich.

“What’s wrong, Scott? You seem to be in another world?” Hank questioned, between bites of pizza.

Gesturing with his free hand, Scott indicated to the beautiful assembly that was bolstering comments about Emma. “Those two make me sick. They’re placing bets on whether that blonde dick is going to, you know,” he choked out, “nail Emma. How can they just treat her like a piece of meat?”

Nodding sympathetically, Hank swallowed his food. “Genetic studies have shown that girls seem to like guys that act like that…thus, they propagate with them more frequently.” Hank paused when he saw Scott just staring, his mouth partially agape.  

“Huh…well,” Hank said, backpedaling, “I think that she might be looking for a horticulture tutor. Do happen to know anything about it? That might be a way to waltz directly into her heart.”

Scott’s head shot up and Hank could see the happiness shining through the ruby lenses of his glasses. “That’s it! You’re a genius!”

The blue mutant wiped his mouth with a napkin and gave a fanged smile. “Of course I am…I assume that you are quite deft in the art of plant cultivation?”

“Well, no…but that’s something that can be fixed with Wikipedia! They gotta have a plant wiki!” Already the wheels were turning in Scott’s head. He’ll do the research, help her ace her class, her grateful self will run into his arms, and they will literally live happily ever after! Leaning to the side, Scott fished his phone from the pocket of his jeans and started Googling like crazy.

Chuckling to himself, Hank opened another Tupperware of food, and started stirring the contents inside. “Oh, gallant hero. Are we not getting ahead of ourselves?” Tapping the side of his head with his fork, he continued, “Les we forget that the lovely Emma is a telepath. She could easily tell if you know your flora or not.”

Scott waved him off, and continued to type into his phone. “Oh that? I’m not worried about that. My dad dated this alien chick that could read minds. She taught us all a thing or two about how to close our minds to telepathy probes. I just gotta pay attention when I’m around Emma, that’s all.”

“Ah, well. I believe Virgil said it best when he declared that ‘fortune favors the bold’. Let’s embrace that, and perhaps our luck will be for the better!” Hank announced, pulling out his iPhone, and sending Siri out on fact finding missions to help his new friend.

* * *

 


End file.
